nightmares, yet still alert and boingy. dishes, otoh...

had nightmare about highschool. me and jennifer and avery and my roommate, cate, and two other girls who were completely imaginary were in this room with a substitute teacher/babysitter lady. there were bathroom-stall like structures we kept hiding in because she didn't want to let us do anything. she didn't understand that we were All Grown Up.

this is obv. about the substitute teachers who don't get that rules (ie, entering the teacher's lounge, walking in the hall w/o pass, driving somewhere and back during school...) don't apply to GOOD students.

i'm elitist.

<--can't decide whether to hate herself

[edit: what happened to the goddamned font???? grr!]

[edit 2. i had a thought. where did it go?]

gip

poor gandalf. you will be reunited soon.

snark.

okay. skipped dinner last night and breakfast this morning, and for lunch had... wheat bran and raisins. less than a quarter of the way into a flower-shaped cheeseburger, had to stop. not nauseated, thank god, but no tastebuds, apparently. just. no appetite. goddamned medicine. i feel the need to punish myself.

i know! i will read frankenstien standing up for 2.5 hours!!!![edit--tell me i didn't misspell frankenstein. no no no. *whine* almost misspelled it AGAIN! sob. want nap. and slash. and not work. not ESSAY. essay SUCKS. 8 pages of fiction over 8 pages of lit crit ANY DAY, thank you. *whine*]

*checks for enthusiasm re/going to work: no.* well. it was worth a try.

good things: water fountains
bad things: essays
good things: slash
bad things: gothic novels.

i fear i could go on about this at length. must close computer... must!

[edit--lisa's bf is predicting the pattern of his and lisa's future baldness. hahahahahahah.]

(no subject)

i. hate. stupid. people. *fume fume* gnashing of teeth. i didn't think it was possible to make me dislike jane austen!

unbearably funny things about the art museum.

i have been WALKING, for three shifts, now, on a priceless piece of artwork that is not supposed to be touched. why, you may ask? because the stupid MORONS put this piece of artwork (which is a rug) on the floor. in the middle of the gallery. between the door and the exhibit. with NO SIGN that you shouldn't walk on it. and didn't tell the museum guards, with the exception of my boss, any of this.

also there's a sarape on the wall, wool, embroidered, with birds, that says an ornate "JC" on it. always makes me crack up. --however, i don't think it's pretty enough for him.

it's either too hot or too cold there. NEVER just right.

things that are funny only after you've already been there too long: one of the galleries is an uneven number of tiles wide. ...no? well. guess you had to be there.

(no subject)

got an ambulance bill for like $500. wtf? this is why i gave them my insurance information at the HOSPITAL. fuckers.

(no subject)

warm squishy salamanders of love (with external gills),
Dad

i <3 my dad. hee!

(no subject)

have i mentioned that i suck?

(no subject)

i used to be good at drumming a point into the ground.

why, oh why couldn't i have an unintelligent professor?

more essay. *glum look*

i have a feeling that taking three paragraphs to get to the thesis will be frowned upon.

dammit!

(no subject)

idea: console myself with words! "flirt" in second sentence. then "native" and "accoutrements." "toying." "spears." "droll." how sexual a metaphor can i squeeze in? hm...

probably need textual examples for the intro.

damn,
damn,
damn,
damn,
damn.